


it's not easy to find footing on unsteady ground (or "Spies and Lies")

by crushing83



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Dead Hales, Fake Character Death, Grief, Journalist Stiles, M/M, Mourning, Novelist Derek, Sad Ending, Scott McCall is a jerk, Scott has issues with Stiles and Derek together, Scott may be a biphobe or homophobe, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles fakes his death, Unhappy Ending, and has to deal with the fallout, brief mentions of Lydia Martin - Freeform, but it was all i could think of after a day of writing straight, cia stiles, evil members of the Argent family, fake death, i used up all my words on the middle, mentions of Kate Argent, not thrilled with the ending, open-ended ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: For five years after Stiles' death, Derek has been going through the motions, pretending his very existence isn't a poor substitute for (or a weak shadow of) the life he and Stiles built and shared together.And then he walks into his almost-father-in-law's house and sees the man who died five years ago—and took a piece of his heart with him to the grave.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 155





	it's not easy to find footing on unsteady ground (or "Spies and Lies")

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I haven't forgotten about my other stories! I'm trying to get back in the rhythm of working on them, but this idea struck and I couldn't set it aside.

After lunch with John, it always took Derek a few minutes to pull himself together to finish the rest of his day in town. He could have driven back towards his cabin and gone to the town near his current home base; but, despite the weight of grief that lingered after twenty years and then five years, he couldn't bring himself to erase Beacon Hills from his map. 

There were still good memories there. He could walk or drive past the park and see the tree that he and Laura tried to climb (and fell out of, each of them breaking a bone on the landing), or the shop from which he bought Cora, Brandon, and Evie ice cream if they behaved while he babysat them. He could sit in his mother's favourite section of the library. He could sit at the table Stiles—

Derek tipped his head back against his truck's seat and sighed. 

He wouldn't be sitting at  _ their  _ favourite table any time soon. While twenty-ish years may have been enough time to ease past the soul-crushing guilt and pain of his mistakes, five years was nowhere close to enough time for getting past the senseless murder of the love of his life. 

Not visiting John might have made his pain lessen, but he couldn't abandon the man. He'd become a father figure to Derek, in some ways, but he'd also become a friend. Unlike Stiles' friends, who were easy to ignore as they moved on with their lives, seemingly fine after the obligatory funeral tears, John had struggled as much as—if not more than—Derek. They were both alone, grieving their only remaining family, and they bonded even more in the never-ending wake of that pain. 

So, they had lunches when Derek needed supplies and on important dates. Sometimes, Derek stayed to watch a game. On rare occasions, John traveled to Derek's isolated cabin; they went fishing or hiking on those days, content to let nature try to fill the gaps in their conversations. 

They were all the family they had left in the world. That reminder was a balm as much as it was an ache. Derek needed a few minutes before he could drive away. 

#####

_ "You're going again?" Derek asked.  _

_ Stiles frowned and sighed. "I know… I  _ know. _ I thought I would have a break, but…" _

_ "They reminded you that they outrank you?" Derek asked.  _

_ He put his hand on Stiles shoulder, guided him into his body, and pointedly ignored the way Stiles' breath hitched in his chest. It was probably neck pain, caused by sleeping on the plane in a weird position the previous night. Derek made a mental note to find some sort of neck pillow for him.  _

_ "Maybe… maybe it's time to find another way?" Derek suggested as Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's waist, burying his face in Derek's chest. "I know you said you don't want to do YouTube or a blog, because of the nature of your stories, but I thought it would get better after the internship was over, and—" _

_ "I wouldn't make any sort of career that way," Stiles muttered. "The way news is done now… I'm a newb nobody."  _

_ "I know, you've said," Derek murmured. He didn't want to fight with Stiles; they had that argument almost every time Stiles got called away unexpectedly. He kissed the side of Stiles' head. "It's fine. I have my launch next week, anyway."  _

_ As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. Stiles slumped and sighed again.  _

_ "I'm sorry, Der." _

_ "It's fine. It's just another fantasy novel, right?" he said, trying to sound lighter than he felt.  _

_ Stiles lifted his head and scowled. "Don't say that! I don't think it—not for one minute!" he protested. "You write so beautifully. It's like music. Art. And readers love your work. I love your work."  _

Not enough to come to the book launch with me  _ was what Derek wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut and pressed a kiss to Stiles' forehead.  _

_ Stiles was an investigative reporter. He could solve puzzles no one else could solve, and he wanted to be in trenches, back alleys, and everywhere in between to tell stories no one else wanted to tell. His determination to carve out that career for himself was a part of the why and how behind Derek falling head over heels for him. Even though he hated that Stiles was rarely home for more than a week at a time, he didn't want Stiles to change such a big part of who he was.  _

_ "We'll be okay, right?" Stiles asked. "You and me forever?" _

_ "You and me forever—and a day," Derek confirmed.  _

#####

As soon as his groceries were loaded into his truck's cargo bed, Derek wiped his hands on his jeans and moved around to the cab. It was only two o'clock in the afternoon; with the three-hour drive ahead of him, he'd be able to get back to his home before dark and he might be able to get a bit of writing done on his next story. 

"Derek!" 

He flinched at the sound of Allison's voice. Even though she was married to Scott, and part of Stiles' circle of friends because of that, he could never give her an honest chance. Her aunt destroyed his family, and Derek couldn't look at Allison without being reminded of his past. Stiles had understood; Stiles' friends had not understood. 

Last he'd heard, Allison and Scott had broken up. It had happened a few days before Stiles' death. Derek hadn't particularly cared to ask John for the details and John hadn't bothered to waste their time together discussing the fallout of the separation. 

Fully intending to ignore her, Derek opened the driver's side door and stepped onto the running board. 

"Derek, wait!" 

He sighed and turned his head enough to look at her. "What do you want, Argent?" 

"Argent-McCall, again, actually," she said, smiling as she held up her left hand to show off her wedding ring. 

"Congratulations?" Derek responded. 

"Thanks!" Allison chirped. At Derek's snort, her good mood faltered. To his dismay, though, she continued speaking. "So, look. We want to invite you to our house for dinner. Friday, six o'clock. We're inviting Mister Stilinski, Melissa, Lydia… The old crew that's in town this week. And I'd really like it if you were there." 

Derek blinked at her. The last contact he'd had with any of Stiles' friends, deliberately, had been approximately two weeks after the funeral, when Scott arrived at their house and  _ magnanimously  _ offered to take anything of Stiles' that was causing Derek continued grief. He'd slammed the door in Scott's face. Two hours later, Scott left a voicemail message on Derek's phone to remind him that they hadn't been married, so Stiles' stuff should go back to his father. Derek saved the message to a hard drive—just in case he needed proof of harassment—and changed his number. He'd never interacted with Scott or Lydia or any of them ever again. 

"I think that's a bad idea, for several reasons," Derek said. "Have a good afternoon, Argent- _ McCall." _

Before Allison could say anything else, Derek hopped into the cab, shut and locked the door, and slid the key into the ignition. 

#####

_ By the time Stiles let himself into the loft with the key Derek gave him, Derek had showered and changed into his comfiest clothes. He was already sitting in his bed staring at a portrait of his family when Stiles padded across the wide expanse of space and sat down next to him.  _

_ "Want to tell me what that was about? You just left before I could introduce you to everyone!"  _

_ "I didn't realise, all the times you mentioned her, that she's an Argent," Derek whispered.  _

_ "You don't like Allison? Her family?" Stiles asked. "Sure, her dad's a little intense, and her mom is terrifying, but—" _

_ "Get your phone out. Google 'Kate Argent Hale' and read what you find," Derek interrupted.  _

_ After a pause, Stiles shifted his weight and pulled his phone from his front pocket. He gasped the moment after he typed the query into the search bar.  _

_ "Shit. You said they…" _

_ "Died in a house fire, yeah," Derek said, looking down at the Hales' smiling faces in his lap. "They did. I just didn't tell you Kate was responsible because I tried to end whatever the hell she was trying to start with me."  _

_ "What can I do?" Stiles asked. "I… I feel like such an idiot. I want to fix this. She's my friend, yes, and I know she's not… evil, but… Derek. You're… we've got something really good, and I love you. Forever and a day, remember?" _

_ It wasn't the first time Stiles said those words, but it felt different. It felt like Stiles was trying to tell him something important.  _

_ "I love you, too," Derek said. He reached out and put his hand in Stiles' hand. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me. Forever and a day. Always."  _

_ Stiles brought their hands to his lips and kissed Derek's knuckles.  _

_ "What can I do, Der?" _

_ "I won't ask you to cut Allison out of your life, but please don't make me hang out with her ever again," Derek said. "I… I should be over it—" _

_ "Nope. Grief and trauma are a different journey for everyone," Stiles insisted.  _

_ "—but she even wears the same perfume as her, and I just can't… her parents made statements against my testimony… it wasn't  _ her, _ I know Allison isn't her, but—" _

_ "I get it," Stiles murmured. "Okay. We can have this place—and our future house, too—be safe spaces. No guests who make us uncomfortable."  _

_ "Really?" _

_ Stiles smiled a bit. "Really. I can go to their apartment, or literally anywhere else," he said. _

_ "No, I mean, our future house?" _

_ Stiles' smile stretched. "Absolutely! I see a picket fence and a dog in our future, mister," he said.  _

_ "That sounds… really good," Derek murmured.  _

_ "And. If you ever want to talk to someone or… or anything. I'm here. Either as a listener or support," Stiles added, his smile fading into a slightly solemn expression. His eyes seemed to grow in size. "Not to fix you or get over your aversion to them. Just… to process."  _

_ When other people suggested Derek try therapy again, it sounded like an accusation. Stiles, though, made it sound like the promise that things could get even better.  _

#####

Derek ignored the world for two days. He chopped firewood, he cleaned the solar panels, and he cooked a pot of chili. He even got a bit of writing done, starting the sequel to his last novel—the book he'd thought would be a one-off, with a story about accepting loss in a world of magic, so different from his quest series that he'd written it under another pen name—and responding to an email from his agent. 

He ignored the fact that it was Friday, the day of the Argent-McCall dinner party, until it was Saturday. 

John's call was surprising. They did, occasionally, talk on the phone, but that usually only happened right before Derek's journey into civilization—to make plans to meet. He didn't usually call a few days after a visit. 

So, Derek worried as he swiped his thumb across the screen and answered the call. 

"John? Are you okay?"

_ "I think so,"  _ John replied in a strained voice.  _ "Son, I know you just got back and settled, but I think you need to come here again." _

Derek frowned. "What's wrong?"

_ "I just had a shock, that's all, and… and… can you come to the house?" _

Derek was already moving towards the door of his cabin. "Give me a few hours. I'm on my way," he said. "If you feel faint or dizzy or anything, call—"

_ "Melissa's already here,"  _ John assured him. 

He felt a small measure of relief at that. While John wouldn't want a fuss to be made over him, Melissa would drag him to the hospital by his ankles if it were absolutely necessary. They'd been friends for decades, through the raising of their children; Melissa would make sure he was well. 

"Okay, okay. I'll get there as soon as I can," Derek promised.

_ "Don't speed,"  _ John warned.  _ "It isn't that sort of emergency."  _

At the use of  _ the E word, _ Derek jammed his feet into his boots and snatched his keys off of the hook. 

"Call me if anything changes?"

_ "You're my first call," _ John promised. 

Derek put his phone in his jacket pocket as soon as he shrugged on the garment. He barely stopped to turn and lock his door before rushing to his truck and hopping inside. 

#####

_ "Mister Hale?"  _

_ Derek couldn't speak. He could barely breathe; answering questions was beyond his capability. John's hand was a tight gripping weight on his shoulder. He looked to John, for guidance, but John had his eyes closed and he, too, seemed to be struggling with their new reality.  _

_ The federal agent in front of them seemed confused. He'd turned their world upside down with one sentence and he seemed confused.  _

_ Derek would have laughed if he weren't reeling from the information in that sentence.  _

_ "How did it happen?" John asked.  _

_ "Mister Stilinski had been interviewing our suspect," the agent said. "He didn't know. He was talking to him about the real estate market, something for a story, as far as I know. When we arrived to take the suspect into custody, he panicked and—" _

_ Stiles was dead. Derek closed his eyes and shook his head.  _

_ "I can't get into the details, but we have him in custody, along with the evidence to put him away for a long time," the agent said. "It's an airtight case. You'll have justice."  _

_ Derek flinched at the agent's choice of words. Justice wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Stiles! He wanted their life together! In the absence of those possibilities, justice mattered very little.  _

_ Stiles was dead.  _

_ Stiles had been shot in the chest. He'd bled out, alone, while the federal agents chased, caught, and captured their suspect.  _

_ Derek didn't care for justice or revenge.  _

_ "When will his belongings be returned or released to Derek?" John asked.  _

_ "What isn't evidence can be packaged and shipped to you tomorrow," the agent replied.  _

_ John squeezed his shoulder. "To Derek," he insisted. "Derek is his partner."  _

_ "Oh. All right. Yes. We can arrange that."  _

_ "Can we see him? When will his body be released—" _

_ "Ah. Well. Now that…"  _

_ John sighed. "What happened?"  _

_ "After the autopsy, there was a mixup," the agent said. "His body was sent to a crema—" _

_ Derek flinched away from John and the unnamed agent and left the kitchen. He kept walking until he was in the backyard. The same backyard where he and Stiles pledged to get married in the next year. The same backyard where, after six months of dating, Derek watched Stiles grill dinner for them and his dad, with that ridiculous hip shimmy accompanying his off-key singing, and  _ knew  _ Stiles was the love of his life.  _

_ The previous day, Derek had decided that he'd ask all the questions he'd had through their life together—getting his concerns out of the way, once and for all, before their wedding. _

_ Standing in the backyard of Stiles' childhood home, those concerns no longer mattered. So what if Stiles' suitcase had had a tag for Portugal when he'd allegedly been in Argentina? So what if Stiles had received more alleged wrong number calls than anyone else Derek had ever encountered? So what if Derek had never met any of Stiles' coworkers?  _

_ Stiles was dead. He'd died surrounded by strangers, if by anyone at all. He'd never be there to hug or kiss again. He'd never… he'd…  _

_ "Easy son, easy son."  _

_ John's arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a solid embrace before Derek realised what was happening. Derek buried his head into John's shoulder and sobbed.  _

_ The torrent of grief raged for a few minutes before Derek could try to control himself.  _

_ "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Sorry—" _

_ "Don't you dare apologise," John interjected, rubbing Derek's back. "You're family, too. Stiles w-would talk about needing to feel your feelings, both of us, and he'd be right. We both love him. We both lost him."  _

_ "I… are there arrangements to—" _

_ "If you're up for helping me with them, maybe we can start tomorrow," John suggested. "For now, let's go inside, have some tea, and then I'll make up the spare bed for you. You'll stay here until you're ready to go to the house and then I'll take you over. All right?"  _

_ Derek nodded and pulled back enough to wipe his eyes. He might be alone, without Stiles, but he wasn't actually on his own. John's steady presence at his side was a comfort to which he could cling. They needed each other in the face of their new grief. _

#####

When Derek parked along the curb in front of the Stilinski family home, he saw two familiar cars, belonging to Melissa and Scott, along with an unfamiliar rental. John's car was in the driveway, as was the rental; Scott's and Melissa's vehicles were on the other side of the street. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to deal with Scott. Scott had made it clear he thought Derek had been temporary in Stiles' life (despite their being together for almost a decade). Knowing he'd never change Scott's mind, Derek had gone out of his way to avoid the man. It looked like that strategy wouldn't be possible for at least a few minutes. 

He trudged across the yard and let himself into the house. 

"John?" he called out, looking around. "Are you—"

As if on cue, John appeared at the end of the hall, in the kitchen's doorway. He was smiling through tear tracks and reddened eyes.

"You made good time," he said, closing the gap between them. 

"Are you—"

Before Derek could finish asking his question for a second time, John pulled him into a hug. 

"Fine, fine," John murmured. "Had a shock, is all. And now it's your turn." 

"My turn?" Derek asked.

No news Scott could have would affect Derek's life enough to be considered a shock. 

A couple times during Derek's relationship with Stiles, at his most insecure and when things didn't quite add up, Derek worried Stiles had been cheating on him. They'd been together through Stiles attending college (out-of-state), through Derek travelling for fiction writing seminars and book signings, and through all the trips Stiles took for work. He wasn't an idiot; he knew there were opportunities. 

Derek's irrational fear combined with Scott's presence in John's house made him wonder. Maybe there was a child. Maybe Stiles had a child. And maybe Scott and Allison had planned the dinner to tell everyone they were adopting his child. 

He allowed John to guide him into the kitchen. Melissa and Scott were sitting at the table; however, another man was standing at the kitchen sink with his back to the room. 

Something about him looked familiar and strange at the same time. Derek's heart pounded in his chest.

Had John neglected to tell him Stiles had an estranged sibling?

John squeezed his shoulder as the man turned around—as Stiles turned around. 

Derek couldn't breathe or blink. 

Stiles was standing in front of him. 

"You're not hallucinating," Stiles said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I promise I wouldn't have put you through all that if it hadn't been absolutely necessary." 

"Necessary?" Derek repeated. 

He nodded. "I will tell you everything. I can… now. I couldn't then," he said. "Der…" 

Derek flinched. He turned his attention to Scott. "How long have you known?" he asked. "That's what last night was about, right? You planned. You and your wife. So you knew. You both knew. How long?"

Scott glared back at him. "None of your business," he growled. "Stiles is my best friend." 

Making an assumption, and deciding to dig a little, Derek asked, "When you came to the house demanding Stiles' possessions. You knew, then, right? You were trying to get things for him. For his new life wherever."

"So what if I was?"

Derek shook his head. "You let me—no, of course you would. You've made your feelings perfectly clear. But, John. You let John think his son was dead, when he was just… somewhere else. For sport?" he demanded. "God, you two." 

He turned to Stiles. "I never really knew you, did I?" he asked. "That you could be so cruel. I never suspected." 

"Der—"

Stiles stopped talking when Derek took a step towards him. Even though he needed to escape, he also needed to be sure Stiles was real. He put his hands on Stiles' shoulders as soon as he was in reach; Stiles was solid and warm and  _ there. _ Whether it was muscle memory or grief or the shock, Derek didn't know, but he found himself pulling Stiles into a hug. 

Without hesitation, Stiles returned the embrace. Derek kissed the side of his head, the way he used to do, and then he pulled back. Stiles tried to cling to him, but Derek was firm in his actions. 

"I'm glad you're not dead," he said. "But, if I stay, I'm going to say things I'll regret." 

"Der, please let me explain…" 

Derek shook his head and turned away from him. His eyes were already filling with tears and he refused to break down in front of Stiles and Scott. They'd hurt him enough. 

He paused long enough to give John a brief one-armed hug and then he left the house. 

#####

_ Even though he'd wanted to say something about Stiles, in front of his friends and family, Derek couldn't find the words. He'd tried—for John, especially—but the words he'd counted on for his career and livelihood failed him.  _

_ John had understood. He'd told him, the previous day, that he'd been unable to talk about Claudia, when she passed. He'd admitted he didn't think he could say anything about Stiles, either. There were no words adequate to describe his vibrant personality and busy mind; no words could explain to the world how big and blind his heart was, and how worse off the world was without him.  _

_ Despite his misgivings, he'd agreed with John that Scott could give the eulogy. They'd been best friends since the beginning of time, it seemed, to John, and Scott could do that one thing for Stiles and his memory when his father and partner could not.  _

_ He watched Scott walk past him, towards the podium, and he hoped Scott had found the words when Derek could not.  _

_ "I'm Scott. I guess you all know that," he said, drawing huffs of tear-soaked amusement from the crowd. "And Stiles is—was—my best friend. He was there for me… for everything. It's the kind of person he was. If you had him in your life, you just knew he'd be there if you needed him.  _

_ "He was my best man. He was basically the reason Allison and I… god, he was so smart. I'm the idiot of our dynamic duo, and he helped me so much—with Allison, bullies, homework… college. Life. He was always there for me.  _

_ "I imagined us living to grandpa age, our wives becoming the best of friends, any kids we had growing up together and being one big family together," Scott continued. "I held out hope for that dream. I know we would've gotten there… if… if…" _

_ As he struggled for words, Derek felt some forming on the tip of his tongue:  _ I was his partner; Stiles was never going to have a wife, but a husband; your heteronormative views have no place here; what the fuck are you talking about?! _ But, Derek decided to hold back and remain silent. John's hand found purchase on Derek's arm, squeezing either in comfort or in warning, and Derek let that ground him. It didn't matter what Scott thought; he and Stiles had been building a life together, and they would have made it to old age if only so Stiles could cackle in glee to see Derek's face weather and crease.  _

_ He'd been looking forward to that. He'd said Derek's good looks weren't forever, and that he was lucky Derek was a big nerdy marshmallow under the scowling eyebrows and smoldering eyes because that secret gave Stiles certainty that they could make it for the long haul. It gave Derek that same certainty; so many people never looked beyond the surface that genetics had provided him, but Stiles had.  _

_ "But, life is… not perfect," Scott said, pulling Derek from his thoughts. "And now, his dad and I are grieving the loss of the best family either of us had." _

_ Derek closed his eyes and tuned out the rest of Scott's words. Scott loved Stiles, even if he didn't accept his life choices or loves, and they were gathered together to celebrate and mourn Stiles. The rest didn't matter.  _

#####

By the time he arrived at his cabin, Derek had decided the only reasonable explanation was some sort of witness protection. The agent who'd notified them claimed to be from the FBI; Derek remembered that because he'd thought it strange that an FBI agent was there to talk to a retired sheriff. He could have been a marshal. The death could have been staged to protect Stiles' identity. If Stiles had told him he had to go away and cut off contact, because his life and others' lives were at stake, Derek would have understood; but, perhaps he would have been in danger if someone else thought he knew where Stiles was hiding. 

He hated it. But, it made sense. 

Still, that theory didn't sit right with him. Stiles must have known Derek would have gone with him—anywhere—if it meant they could stay together. Derek didn't have family, thanks to his teenage mistakes; he didn't have connections to the world except through his books (which he wrote under pseudonyms) and through Stiles. He could have left his life in Beacon Hills, because Stiles had been his heart and home. 

That Scott had known Stiles was still alive was another issue with his theory. Surely, Scott would have been in danger if he'd known Stiles was still alive—if Stiles were in witness protection. Stiles never would have risked Scott's life to get him a message. 

It had to be something else. Stiles hated his life and wanted a change, maybe; Scott, who never saw Derek as anything more than a nuisance, would have agreed to keep the secret under those circumstances. 

But, why wouldn't he have told John? Had he? Had they all been lying to him? 

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Briefly, he thought (hoped) it was Stiles on the front step; maybe they'd scream and shout, but maybe Derek would get answers to his questions. He crossed the cabin, fully prepared to give Stiles a piece of his mind, but the scent of roses carried through the open windows and he knew it was Allison. 

"What do you want?" Derek growled when he opened the door. 

She didn't smile. She simply tilted her head and said, "We should talk. Truthfully." 

"There is nothing you can say that I want to hear," Derek replied. She tried to move past him, but Derek blocked her path. "The last time I let an Argent into my home, she killed my family. I have nothing left, but I've learned my lesson." 

"I'm not my aunt," Allison said. "Hell, I've practically disowned my family. What they did—more than even you know—is wrong." 

Derek remained still and silent. 

"Look, I'm here for Stiles… he asked me to come here and explain. He thought you'd see how serious it is if he were willing to risk your safe space promise," she said. "He still loves you, this isn't a sign of disrespect. This is… the gravity of the situation." 

"I'm not letting you in my home," Derek said in a low, quiet voice. "I don't care what you have to say."

He made it back across the threshold, with his hand pushing the door closed, when Allison spoke again. 

"Stiles is—was—CIA." 

Derek stopped moving away. That theory had never made it on his list of possibilities. 

"So am I," Allison continued. "We got recruited around the same time, out of college. Stiles because he was acing his language classes. Me because of my athletics scholarship and family history." 

After crossing his arms, Derek asked, "You expect me to believe this?" 

"Grad school was us training at the farm," she said after a shrug. "All of his trips were for work. Just… espionage was his work. Journalism was a cover. Gave him a reason to be in certain places." 

"And what did you do?" he asked. "You weren't flying out of the country every other week."

Allison shook her head. "No… I was tasked with getting information on my family. My grandfather, specifically. He and Kate… they… well. What Kate did to you was the tip of the iceberg, really." 

"Funny. Felt like the murder of my entire family to me," Derek muttered. 

"It wasn't until six years ago that we started working together," Allison said, ignoring Derek's comment. "Small jobs at first. We made a good team. So when… well. A lot of it's still classified, but Stiles had to go deep cover. I became his handler, sort of. I had a cover, too. We needed to sever ties—"

"That was why you separated," Derek surmised. 

She nodded. 

"But, Scott knew."

She nodded again. "I'd been permitted to tell my spouse," she explained. "Our bosses didn't give Stiles the same consideration. They said it was because you were high-risk, given your past history, but… Stiles suspected it was the same-sex thing."

Derek snorted. Her casual use of the word  _ thing _ stung. 

"I'd asked Scott to tell you—"

"But your husband thought Stiles would finally get a wife and kids and abandon his bisexuality with the possibility of a fresh start," Derek interjected. "Yeah, he made all that clear during his eulogy for my  _ dead partner." _

Allison flinched. "I didn't know… he said…"

He moved to close the door again, but Allison put her hand against it and pushed enough to stop it.

"Stiles still loves you—still chooses you—no matter what he had to leave to do," she insisted. "He only agreed to the plan when our bosses promised you'd be watched and protected." 

Not liking the implications of that, Derek slammed the door in her face and bolted the lock. It wouldn't keep her out, if she were really some sort of spy, but he hoped it would send a message she'd heed. 

#####

_ After Derek's call to John, both John and two deputies arrived outside the house within fifteen minutes. Derek still hadn't gone inside, knowing that it might not be safe to do so when he saw the front door open (when he knew he'd locked it before driving to San Francisco for a meeting), but he thought John calling some of his friends still in the department might have been overkill.  _

_ Jordan smiled at him. "You good, Hale?" he asked. _

_ Derek nodded. "No one came out. I've just been sitting here," he replied.  _

_ "Let me and Tate walk through, okay?" he suggested. "Then, if it's all clear, we'll take you in and you can let us know if anything's missing."  _

_ "This is overkill," Derek said, looking from Jordan to the female deputy at his side to John. "I appreciate you all coming, though."  _

_ "You're the Sheriff's family," Jordan said with a shrug. To him, that was enough. Derek smiled and nodded. "Just give us a few minutes, okay?" _

_ Derek nodded.  _

_ John settled in at his side, both of them leaning against his car, and Jordan and Deputy Tate headed into the house.  _

_ "Malia's new, so the search might become a training exercise," John said. He huffed out a little laugh. "She's a little odd. But, she's determined. Passed all the psych tests, but always flunked out of training for one reason or another. Parrish likes her determination. Gave her one more chance and she nailed it."  _

_ "She doesn't look new," Derek commented.  _

_ "No… she's about Stiles' age, I think. But, it's never too late to try something new, right?"  _

_ At the mention of Stiles, Derek reached up and rubbed his hand against his chest. His heart felt bruised; it would always, probably, feel that way. _

_ "You're right," Derek agreed.  _

_ "How're you doing, son?" John asked. "Work okay?" _

_ Derek sighed. "I'm behind on my deadline. Had to go meet my publisher," he admitted. "I can't… the words are hard. The last chapter is supposed to be a celebration. The darker chapters were easier. Can't seem to find the right tone now."  _

_ Even though John had told him repeatedly over the years that he could never be as creative as Derek, he still smiled and leaned into him for support.  _

_ "You'll figure it out," John declared. "Either you'll remember good times and draw on those feelings or you'll find a way to make the darkness continue. Maybe the end isn't really the end. Maybe… maybe…" _

_ "Maybe we don't all get happy endings," Derek muttered.  _

_ John sighed and gave him a one-armed hug. "You're going to heal," he said in a quiet voice. "It doesn't happen all at once."  _

_ "My publisher suggested I rent a cabin somewhere to try to finish," Derek admitted.  _

_ "You think it will help?" _

_ He shrugged. He'd been wondering if it would help to escape the house and town, ever since he left the meeting. Sitting around in the house where he and Stiles had built a life only reminded him that life was gone. Maybe he needed a change of scenery so he could pretend enough to write a happy ending for his book.  _

_ "It wouldn't be forever," John reasoned. "Maybe take a long weekend, see if it would work."  _

_ "Maybe," Derek conceded. He smiled. "Maybe I'll take a week, and if I make enough progress you could come up and we'll go fishing or something." _

_ "If by fishing you mean sitting on a dock, drinking beer, and getting some sun, then, I'm in," John decided.  _

_ Derek snorted. "Sounds good. I'll make sure there's a dock with lounge chairs," he replied.  _

_ A few moments into their tentative planning, Jordan and Malia reappeared. Their weapons were in their holsters; they didn't look like they'd encountered anyone dangerous.  _

_ "No one's inside, but the place is pretty, uh—" _

_ "Trashed," Malia supplied. "Someone went through almost everything."  _

_ Derek sighed. "Great," he muttered.  _

_ Jordan sighed, too. "I know, man," he agreed. "Could you come with me and look around? The TV and your computer are still there, but you might notice if something else has been taken."  _

_ Derek nodded. With John at his side, they went into the house.  _ Trashed  _ was putting it mildly. Books had been tossed off of their shelves, cupboards and closets had been opened and emptied, and the destruction continued into the master bedroom where the mattress had been pulled from its frame and flipped around. No stone had been left unturned, it seemed. Derek thought he'd never figure out what was missing—or if anything were missing—because it was a scene of pure chaos.  _

_ But, then, he stepped into his office and saw that his desk drawer had been broken.  _

_ "Hard drives," Derek said as he peered into the open drawer. "It was just my research. Family videos and photos. Stuff we collected for work or… or… our lives."  _

_ "Was your writing on them?" Jordan asked.  _

_ "No, I back that up to a cloud," he admitted. "And I print the rough chapters as I finish them."  _

_ He turned his head and checked the floor near the bookcase. His draft binders were all still there.  _

_ "Why would someone take your research and family photos?" Malia asked.  _

_ Derek shrugged. "If it… well. Scott wanted me to return Stiles' things to John, but…"  _

_ He trailed off and looked around the room. Something else was missing: Stiles' laptop.  _

_ "Stiles' laptop is gone, too," Derek said, gesturing to the top of his filing cabinet.  _

_ Frowning, John stepped around the debris to look at the cabinet in question. "Nothing else is damaged, not this lock… just your drawer," he said. "Scott hasn't brought a computer by. I can't imagine why he'd want it." _

_ "No, me neither," Derek agreed. "Maybe the photos, he wanted, but the laptop, that was Stiles' work kit. He made a point of keeping personal stuff on his tablet. I never got that back from the FBI—I just assumed it got wrecked or was physical evidence."  _

_ "All right. I'm gonna call someone in to take pictures," Jordan decided. "I'll talk to Scott—" _

_ "I doubt it was him," Derek interrupted.  _

_ "I know, but it doesn't hurt to double check," Jordan said. "Can you stay somewhere else tonight?" _

_ Before Derek could say anything, John said, "He'll be at my place." _

_ Jordan smiled tightly and nodded. "Good… good. If you have any serial numbers or anything, we can get those from you tomorrow?"  _

_ Derek handed Jordan his keys. "The small key is for the cabinet. Top drawer," he said. "Please lock up when you're finished."  _

_ "Thanks, man. I'll be careful and discrete." _

_ Derek nodded. "I know," he said.  _

_ He didn't know Jordan well enough to call him a friend, but he did know him enough to know Jordan would treat his privacy with respect. He wouldn't have handed over the keys, otherwise.  _

_ "C'mon, son," John prompted. "I think this is a pizza and beer night, diets be damned."  _

_ Despite the awful turn of events, Derek snorted and followed John when he started to leave the room.  _

#####

It took an hour for Stiles to call him, after Derek located and  _ destroyed _ the two tiny cameras installed (without his knowledge or permission) in his cabin. He thought it might take less time, but he supposed the notification had to come from whoever had been observing him. That might have taken time. 

Despite his hurt feelings and confusion, he answered the call. The idea of being able to hear Stiles' live voice, after going without for five years, was a heady notion. 

_ "Derek? Please don't hang up." _

Derek sighed. "What do you want?" he asked. 

_ "To… fix what I broke,"  _ he whispered.  _ "Please." _

"I don't know what to say—or what I want to hear," Derek admitted. 

_ "Can I just… talk?"  _ Stiles asked.  _ "Fill in the blanks where I can?" _

"Sure," Derek agreed. 

_ "I wanted to tell you. As soon as they approached me. At school. But, they made me sign an NDA and told me I couldn't let anyone know if I wanted to be considered for covert work,"  _ Stiles said, his voice quiet and his words hurried. _ "I never thought… I mean, I'm loud and distracted and spazzy… but the idea of training was so cool, Der. Like a video game or movie, y'know? So, I thought I'd try it out. I thought I'd flunk out and maybe get an internship with the State Department, be able to talk to you about it, but I actually did okay and they offered me a training spot at the farm." _

He wanted to ask questions about when Scott found out, why he didn't trust Derek with the truth, what he thought would happen when Derek eventually caught him in a lie, and so on, but he couldn't. He wanted to know and he didn't want to know, all at the same time. 

_ "I didn't realise Allison had been recruited until she showed up, too. And, we weren't quite as close anymore, but it was good to have a familiar face there. Someone who understood what it cost to keep that secret,"  _ Stiles continued in the wake of Derek's silence.  _ "It got real, really fast. I was posted to a station in Los Angeles, and then they started sending me on missions. It wasn't dangerous stuff—most of it was really boring. But, I was doing good. For the country. For the good guys." _

"I thought you were doing good through your reporting," Derek said. 

Stiles made a soft, sad noise.  _ "I wanted to tell you, Der. Really. You and Dad," _ he said. 

"How's he doing with everything?" Derek asked. 

_ "I… I think we'll be okay, eventually,"  _ Stiles replied. 

"Good."

_ "What… what about us?"  _

At that question, Derek sighed. "I don't know, Stiles," he admitted. Stiles sucked in a sharp breath and started to ask questions, but Derek continued talking. "You lied to me for years. I get that you couldn't tell me, but I had so many doubts. Why did your luggage tag say Lisbon when you told me you were going to Mendoza? What was with all those wrong numbers? Or the late night calls when you thought I was asleep?

"I tried so hard to believe you were real and honest. Even when Scott dismissed us at your memorial—or tried to get your stuff returned to your dad. I held firm. Maybe you had affairs, but maybe I was just lucky to have had you for as little time as I did. Because we were real, when we were together. Or because that's all I deserved.

"But, now… knowing this… knowing who knew and who didn't. Knowing you didn't trust me at all… I can't believe any of it was real. You lied to me for years about who you are, even after knowing how I felt about people who can do that," he said. 

_ "Derek… no, I'm not—I didn't." _

"You had people install cameras in my cabin, watching me," Derek said. "You thought it was better to betray my privacy like that instead of telling me the truth and trusting me."

_ "It was protection. In case the bad guys found out who I really am. The agency—" _

"Why did they trash our home and take my hard drives? Your laptop?" Derek asked. "It was them, right? Your people?"

_ "There was some research on one of them, and on my laptop,"  _ Stiles admitted.  _ "I remembered something I'd deep-dived on, and I couldn't find the posts on the way-back internet archive thing. I didn't know they'd wreck the place." _

"I thought Scott did it. It was after he'd asked for your belongings," Derek said. 

_ "He shouldn't have done that. Or the eulogy thing. I saw a recording of it." _

"Yeah."

_ "Derek… if I'd had any idea you'd go through all of that—" _

"The grief was acceptable, but people believing we weren't in a real relationship is the tipping point?" Derek asked. 

_ "No! Of course the grief wasn't acceptable!"  _ Stiles exclaimed.  _ "I knew it would hurt you. I knew you don't deserve that. I love you! I hated every minute I was away—" _

"Dead. You were dead. To me. Not away on an adventure." 

_ "Derek. Please. I'm trying…"  _

"You're brave and courageous, of course you are," Derek said. "And I appreciate the danger you might have been in."

_ "I don't care about that!" _

"You wouldn't," Derek agreed. "But you lied to me almost the whole time we were together. You faked your death and let your father and I grieve for you. He can choose to forgive you and welcome you back with open arms. You're his son. His family. But… now, I have even more doubts. 

"For months after your death, the idea that you'd been surrounded by strangers when you died… it ate at me. I hated the FBI for running after their suspect and leaving you to bleed out," Derek continued. "I had to physically leave Beacon Hills to get some peace. There were times when I wanted to end it all because there was so much grief.

"And you were alive, through all of that. You were presented with a course of action and you eventually decided the pain you'd cause was acceptable—or necessary, I'm not sure which is better. I'm not wired to accept this and go back to the way things were. Not after the way my family died."

_ "What if… what if we try again? Build something new? Stronger?"  _ Stiles asked.  _ "I'm out now, for good. No longer a field agent. They might call me back for analyst work, but I made it clear that I was never going undercover again. I'm not leaving again, Derek."  _

"I don't think that's something you can promise," Derek said in a quiet, hoarse voice. He felt exhausted and stripped bare; he wanted to lie down in bed and pull the covers up over his face. "And I can't take the lies again."

_ "The thought of coming back to you was the only thing keeping me going,"  _ Stiles confessed.  _ "All I wanted was to go home."  _

"Key's in the rock. Help yourself." 

_ "You are my home!" Stiles exclaimed. "I don't care what those homophobic suits or Scott think! You are my home!" _

Tears streamed down Derek's face as he listened to the way Stiles' voice shook in his ear. In his wildest dreams, Stiles had returned to him—but never under those circumstances. Derek wasn't equipped to handle a situation where his partner turned out to be a secret agent. He didn't know what to say or do. 

Could he forgive the betrayal? Could he keep suspicion at bay every time Stiles traveled for work—or any time he met up with Allison?

Derek didn't know. 

"I need some time," Derek said. "I love you—I'll always love you—but I need some time. And probably therapy." 

_ "The agency can recom—" _

"No. You and your goons are done screwing with my head," Derek interrupted. 

_ "Derek…" _

"I'll say witness protection if it comes up," he added. 

Stiles exhaled loudly.  _ "Oh. Okay. Yeah. That's the cover story we're going with,"  _ he said.  _ "Good thinking." _

"Not actually an idiot," Derek muttered.

_ "I know that," _ Stiles said. 

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, reaching for a change of subject. "I mean, the work… were you injured or tortured or—"

Stiles snorted.  _ "I can't get into details, but I was mostly fine. Not safe, given the target, but… she had no idea, until the end, that I wasn't who I claimed to be," _ he said.  _ "Basically, I just had to play a convincing part. And slip Allie information when I could, so outside people could ruin the target's plans." _

"A part? Like… a secretary? Pool boy? Sugar baby? Homeless bum on the street?" Derek asked. 

_ "Hilarious that those are your go-to choices."  _

Before Derek could find anything to say in response to that, Stiles continued talking.  _ "It would have been dangerous—deadly, even—if they figured out who I really am,"  _ he said. Their topics didn't quite line up, but Derek didn't care; he just liked hearing Stiles talk, even if it hurt his heart. " _ But, thankfully, I was good at my job."  _

"I'm glad you're still alive," Derek said. 

_ "I couldn't… I wanted to stay, I swear to you. But, I had to go, Derek. It was important,"  _ Stiles reiterated.  _ "I can't give you names and locations, but,  _ trust me,  _ it was important." _

"To the safety of the world, I get it," Derek said on a sigh. 

_ "To you,"  _ Stiles insisted. 

His mind, already whirring to make sense of a reality where Stiles faked his death, started slotting the pieces together. It didn't make sense—she was supposed to be serving a life sentence, no one told him she'd escaped—but, with everything Stiles and Allison had vaguely told him, an insane, unbelievable picture was beginning to form in his mind. 

"I… I have to go," Derek said, feeling something in his chest start to flutter and pound simultaneously. "I… yeah. Gotta go." 

_ "Derek, wait, please, I need to tell you more ab—" _

He wasn't sure he could listen as Stiles explained how Allison's research and his skills in the field combined in some sort of scheme to take down the woman who was somehow more than a murderer of a whole family. Wasn't that enough? He pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call. Then, he turned off his phone. 

Why hadn't she come back to finish the job? If she'd been released, surely she would have. It wasn't like Derek had been in hiding or under guard—because no one saw fit to tell him she'd escaped. She could have come back and… killed Stiles and John. She could have killed him. He'd always assumed she'd meant to kill him, too, since John, as a deputy at the time, had been a part of the group that had caught her on her way to the school where Derek had been for cross-country running practice. 

And, what had Stiles done to earn her trust? Derek didn't like thinking about that—at all—but, once he started, he couldn't stop. The image of the two of them together, intimately, bothered him so much he felt queasy; knowing it was only a means to an end for Stiles, if it happened, did not help settle his insides. 

How were they supposed to recover from everything? 

Derek groaned and covered his face with his hands. Nothing made sense; nothing felt right. He couldn't talk to John, because he was Stiles' father, and he couldn't talk to anyone else because of the nature of the problems. He had no idea what he was going to do; he had no idea what to think. 

#####

_ "You aren't taking much," John said as he looked at the boxes he and Derek had loaded into the truck.  _

_ Derek shrugged. "Place is furnished already. Might get a new mattress when I'm up there," he said. "And… Stiles' stuff… I need—" _

_ "I know, I know," John interjected, pulling Derek into a hug. Once they'd separated, John smiled a little. "We're still on for lunch next Wednesday, right?"  _

_ Nodding, Derek said, "And every Wednesday after that. Once I get settled, you should come up. It's a little bigger than the place I rented, has a spare bedroom and everything." _

_ "That sounds good," John agreed. He gestured towards the house. "What are you going to do with it?"  _

_ Derek sighed. He battled with that decision every day. At first, he wanted to sell it. He didn't need the money; he also didn't need the reminder of how his life turned for the worse. But, the idea of parting with Stiles' home made him break out in a cold sweat. It was his last connection to Stiles, after his relationship with John, and he couldn't quite cut that cord completely.  _

_ "Right now, nothing," he said. "I had security installed. I moved Stiles' possessions to a secure storage place. The key to the container is on the ring I gave you. A cleaning service will come once every two weeks to check the house and dust." _

_ "You might be back?" John asked.  _

_ "Yeah… maybe," he said, nodding again. "Feels wrong to sell it. It's part of my home. Just… need time, I think."  _

_ John smiled a bit more. "You absolutely need to do what's best for you," he said. "I hope this helps."  _

_ "Thanks."  _

_ They exchanged one more hug. Derek might have held on a little longer than he should have, but John wasn't complaining. Even with Stiles gone from the world, John still felt like family—and it felt like he was walking away from that family. Derek hated that he couldn't stay; he hated that he needed to remove himself from the house he and Stiles had bought. But, he needed to try to move on enough so that he could keep living, and he couldn't do that in a house full of ghosts.  _

#####

The cabin was secured for the winter season. He would lock the doors, but he also put anything of value in the secure lockers he'd installed in the cellar in case someone came by seeking shelter or seeking to rob him. The utilities would be paid from one of his accounts. He'd asked a nearby local, another person seeking the solitude of the wilderness (and someone he'd helped build a garage after his first year there), to check on the property once a month or so. 

His bags were packed, waiting by the door to be thrown in the truck.

It was time. 

Some people might say he was running again, but Derek didn't know what else to do. He couldn't move forward without perspective; he couldn't find that perspective when Stiles and Allison could pop out of the woodwork at any moment. They'd both been by twice after his phone conversation with Stiles; Stiles was desperate to fix their relationship and Allison seemed to want to help him, despite Derek's aversion to the entire Argent family, Allison included. Neither of them realised that Derek was struggling under the weight of what they'd said and what they hadn't said. 

He desperately wanted to be with Stiles again, and make up for lost time, but… how could he ever trust Stiles again? How could he believe a word he would, inevitably, say? How could they build a life together when Derek knew how easily Stiles had walked away from their previous life together? 

He didn't have an answer to any of his questions. 

So, he sat down at his writing desk, pulled out a piece of plain white paper, and started to write. 

_ Dear Mieczyslaw, _

_ I am not as brave as you. Where life has made you bolder, life has made me more wary—more unsure of where and when to make my next step. I asked for space and time; I am taking it, with or without your acceptance. You might see this as cowardly. Again, I say, I am not as brave as you.  _

_ My whole world has turned on its side. I am so, so,  _ so _ glad you are still in it. But, you're not the you I loved, every minute of every day since we met; you're not the you I grieved every minute of every day since I was told you died. The world has shifted with your big reveal and I am struggling to reorient myself. I can't seem to find solid ground again.  _

_ I want to say to hell with it, and be back by your side. I want to say none of it matters, and welcome you back into my heart. You're still the only person I've ever loved this much. But, now, you're also the only person who lied to me for almost ten years. You told me the why, and I am appreciative of all you sacrificed and endured, but I also don't know if I can ever trust you again. I have so many questions—none I will ask here—and so few answers I can determine are the truth.  _

_ Please give me this time to find that solid ground. I don't expect you to wait. If you find someone who will love you, who you can love, I would never ask… you deserve to be happy. You may find a new home who is less damaged and more trusting. You should take that chance if you do. Please don't look for me. I'm not taking my phone, but I will get a new one and I promise I will call when I can. I want to hear about your new life as a zombie—which is what you've been telling people, I'm sure, when they realise who you are and that you're back from the dead.  _

_ Love you forever and a day, _ _   
_ _ Derek _

After wiping his cheeks and eyes, Derek blotted the tear drops on the letter. He folded the paper and slipped it into the envelope he'd already stamped and addressed to Stiles, at John's house. Once it was sealed, he tucked it into his jacket's chest pocket and rose from his writing desk. 

He brushed his fingers along its surface. He smiled through his tears. Someday, he'd write another book at that desk. He just needed to figure out how to process the twists and turns his life had taken. As much as he wanted Stiles by his side while he tried for that goal, he knew he'd forever doubt himself and Stiles if they journeyed together. Stiles had been his heart for so long; even in grief, Derek had counted on their love to steer him through difficult times. The grand reveal taught him nothing had been what he'd assumed it to be; he needed to relearn how to count on himself, how to evaluate the world by himself, and he hoped Stiles would still be there when he was finished. If not, he would have to accept it as proof they weren't meant to be together forever. He would have to find closure as well as perspective. 

Derek hoped he could find those measures of peace. 


End file.
